A Little Motivation
by NaughtyLaureate
Summary: He's a motivational speaker with no motivation. She's a lonely woman who thinks he hung the moon. A chance meeting in a hotel lobby may just change both their lives forever...with A Little Motivation.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Welcome to our new venture. Ms. NaughtyHisBella and myself (Laureate04) are going to be working on this little story together. There will not be a posting schedule but we'll try to get our chapters to you as quickly as life will allow. Chapter 1 is just about ready to go, and we'll go from there. Although the prologue is not really Beta'd we'd like to thank the third member of the Pervsketeers (and my other half in the world of the PervyTwins writing world), Ms. SassyKassie for her beta services on this story as it goes. This thing wouldn't be the same without her. Our promises with this story are for it to be absolutely ridiculous, as funny as the two of us can make it, and that E and B keep you interested. They drink, they swear, they might even get a little frisky, so if you're under 18, please stop now and come back and see us when you're older. Again, welcome. And please, enjoy the ride. **

* * *

"Unbelievable," she whispers to herself.

Sitting front row in Madison Square Garden, a small brunette wrings her hands together. She still can't believe her luck. She had never sat this close before. She was positive it was a mistake. Someone would surely be coming, at any moment, to remove her from her coveted position. She pulls a piece of hair from behind her ear and scans the area nervously.

Her life had changed because of the man she was seeing tonight. She's bought every one of his books, DVDs and CDs. She spent most of her meager savings on tickets to his sold out shows. Her friends thought she was crazy for following the man all over the east coast. She'd reminded Bree of the expensive tickets to sit third row center for Maroon Five. She brought up the two grand Alec spent for the "Kenny Chesney Experience" just a few weeks before in Chicago. They laughed in her face. Bree stating, "It's Maroon Five! You're spending five hundred dollars to listen to some asshole spew nonsense!"

"Nonsense!?" Bella Swan blustered from her seat on the couch. "Edward Cullen isn't spouting nonsense. He's the foremost expert on life. If you'd just listen to one of his CDs or even watched the DVD about being the best Customer Service Rep out there, you'd understand." She sighed, "He's changed my life."

"Excuse me."

Bella jumped in her seat, bringing her back to the here and now. "Yes?" She asked tentatively.

"May I see your ticket please?" The man asked giving her an amused smirk.

"Oh...ohh...yeah...I was pretty sure there was a...a mistake," she stammered as she hunted through her bag.

The man remained in front of her, waiting patiently.

"I'm sorry. This bag is big," she stuttered. "I mean...um...it's well within the security guidelines for Madison Square Garden but..."

"No worries. Take your time," he smiled and then tapped the clipboard he was holding against his leg.

"Here it is..." she said before breathing a sigh of relief. "If you need me to move...when I picked it up at Will Call and the Andy Frain guy brought me down here...I just...I was certain there had been a mix-up," she rambled.

The man looked over the ticket and then his clipboard. He handed her back the cardstock rectangle and smiled. It was then she recognized him.

"You're...you're Ja...Jasper." She was in awe.

"Yes, little lady. I am," he smiled, knowing she was definitely the woman he was looking for.

Michael Newton had a made a mess for he and Edward. Based on the letters he'd read, this was Ed's Super Fan. She was their ticket out of this debacle.

"Why don't you follow me? I've got someone I'd like you to meet."

* * *

**A/N: Hope that was enough to whet your whistle. Chapter one should be coming up relatively soon and we'll go from there. Please, please, please leave us some love and let us know what you think. We don't like to beg, but we will if we have to! **


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thanks for coming back to check out the story proper. Hope we got some of you interested with that prologue! Here is chapter1 - there isn't going to be a posting schedule as we're working through writing whenever we can. You will find alternating POV's throughout the story...we're starting with Edward. Enjoy and we'll see you at the bottom.**

* * *

Green Rooms. Ugh.

Why the fuck are they called green rooms anyway? I've never sat in a single one that was fucking green. Mostly they're cream or white or some boring shit like that. God. I hate this part of every show, the waiting. I sometimes feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, as they say. One of these days all these people are going to realize that I'm completely and utterly full of shit and all leave before I even get on stage.

As far as green rooms go, the one they've got me in at the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia is pretty damn swanky. I'm laying on a really nice, plush, leather sofa that, surprisingly, is big enough for me to stretch my entire 6' 2" frame on. I could probably go for a nap right about now.

Sometimes the travel kills me. I still feel jet-lag, even after all this time, and even if I'm only hopping one measly time zone. I flew in this morning from home. Chicago. The only place I've really ever felt at home. But now that I'm onto my fourth major speaking tour, I'm feeling just as disconnected from Chicago as I do from everything else. I live out of fucking suitcases for God's sake.

I used to love home. White Sox games in the summer with my brother and father, and Bears games in the winter. My mother was always dragging me and Emmett to all the boring museums that she could think of so that we could gain some "culture.", or so she said. Whatever the deal, our parents loved us and wanted us to be happy.

One of my favorite memories growing up was of our yearly 4th of July barbecue. Chicago was always buzzing the week of July Fourth. It coincided with the popular attraction, Taste of Chicago. Often, as a family, we would head downtown and wander around Grant Park going from food stand to food stand; eating, drinking and enjoying time as a family. And every year on the actual Fourth we would hold a big family party.

Dad would cook burgers, hot dogs and chicken on the grill, and Mom always made her famous potato salad. Our aunts, uncles, cousins, and even Grandma and Grandpa Cullen would come over to the house and we would spend the whole day as one big happy family. Grandpa never failed to set up the croquet set, forcing the kids to play a couple of rounds with him. It always resulted in us chasing eachother around with hammers. I'm still not quite sure how he never figured out croquet was a bad idea with the Cullen kids. In the evening, after heaping slices of mom's apple pie, ice cream, and whipped cream - made from scratch - we'd all pile in as few cars as possible and head toward the lakefront for the fireworks. Something about those days just screams summer and family to me. I loved every minute.

Sighing, I sit up and lay my head on the back of the couch and stretch my legs out in front of me, flexing my feet back and forth. I always have this ball of nervous energy to contend with before a show. One of these days this is all going to blow right the fuck up in my face. I swear. I never should have let Jasper talk me into this shit.

Just as I'm finishing that thought, he knocks and opens the door, not waiting for me to answer. He's wearing this stupid-ass microphone-headset-thing that I constantly make fun of him for. He always tells me it's what PA's and managers wear for these sorts of things. He wants to look like he's "plugged in," whatever the hell that means. The best part? The damn thing isn't even plugged in. He pulled the cord out of it to use on one of his last projects. Boy loves to tinker with shit. Still, he wears the headset part around on his head and carries a clipboard. If anyone knew that the papers he was carrying around were just a bunch of naughty sketches he does when he's bored, they'd laugh their assess off.

"Yo! E, 15 minutes man. You should see the crowd out there, fucking huge. I mean, come on. The Wells Fargo Center? Ever think this was possible?" he laughs.

"Nope, can't say I ever did, Jay. Would never have expected this in a million years."

"Okay, I'll let you get back to your, um...what the hell were you doing anyway? You looked like you were trying to drive a paddleboat or something with your feet."

"I don't know Jay. Just trying to get rid of the nervous energy. Just give me a minute? I'll be right out."

"Sure thing. I'll see you out there."

He closed the door behind him and I stare into the mirror for a minute, and then scrub my hands down my face. He means well. He really does, but sometimes he's just so ridiculous even I have to laugh. I've known Jasper since junior year of high school. He moved to Chicago with his family from somewhere in bumfuck Kentucky. He's never even lost the accent. One day at lunch he sat down at my table, looked me straight in the eye and said "you sure are perrrty..." and proceeded to place his hand on my knee. After I kicked his ass, we laughed so hard about the whole thing that we've been best friends ever since. And no, Jasper isn't gay, he just thought that shit was funny.

I run my fingers through my hair one last time and make my way out into the dingy, concrete hallway that will lead me to the stage of the Wells Fargo Center. Waiting in the hallway are Alice and Rose.

Alice is my head of security. Now when most people hear that they laugh uncontrollably for about 15 minutes and then ask, 'no seriously, she's like, your stylist or something, right?' But no, all 5' 1" of Alice is my head of security, and trust me, she can be scary as fuck. She's a former Marine Sergeant Major and holds more black belts than she owns Prada bags. And trust me, that's a lot of black belts. You should see how many suitcases she brings on tour. Jesus, that woman loves to shop. And her dear husband lets her, the jackass.

~ALM~

Alice and Jasper have been married for about three years. Before we started the whole motivational speaking gig, Jasper was working as an engineer and was contracted out to a US Marine Corps unit stationed somewhere in upstate NY. The commanding officer of the unit was none other than one Ms. Alice Brandon. The two had to work closely together on some top-secret project that the government had ordered and long nights spent draped over a drafting table, turned into long nights _draped over a drafting table,_ if you know what I'm saying. The two have been inseparable ever since. They dated and did the long distance thing for a few months until both of them were worn out, and strung out, from not seeing each other often enough. Alice took an option for early retirement from the Marines and moved to Chicago where Jasper's firm was based.

Alice was looking into starting her own security company in Chicago when she met Rose, her sister-from-another-mister, as they like to say. Alice thought with her background she could start a private security firm that would hire out to the rich and famous of Chicago for protection details. Rose was working for the CIA at the time, but was looking for a change as well. Rose worked in intelligence, which meant long hours at her computer analyzing threat information and looking into potential terror cells. Although originally she loved what she did, she hated being stuck in an office all the time. Fate brought the two of them together over coffee and a CraigsList ad that Alice had placed looking to recruit for her team. They hit it off immediately and went about discussing NDAs, possible client contacts, and pay rates over an afternoon of Jimmy Choo's and Burberry bags.

One night, a couple weeks later, Alice and Jasper were coming over for beers and video games at the apartment that Emmett and I shared. So what if it happened to be the in-law apartment in the basement of Mom and Dad's house? It was our place and we could do what we wanted.

At any rate, they brought Rose along to hang out for the night. She and Alice had been attached at the hip pretty much since their meeting. Plans were running along smoothly for their security company and Rose had officially left her job with the CIA to help Alice get things off the ground. They'd actually agreed to a business partnership rather than Rose just working for Alice.

Mom had been down at our place earlier in the day to get it all presentable for our guests. I loved when she thought of things like that, because cleaning up the pizza boxes and laundry just wasn't something that crossed my mind on a daily basis. If it wasn't something I thought of, it sure as hell wouldn't have passed through the airspace in my twin brother's head.

Don't get me wrong, I love my brother dearly, but more often than not he is the laziest son of a bitch I've ever met. Emmett is in law school, but I can tell you that I'll be surprised if he ever finishes. He's in year 4 of a 3 year graduate program at the University of Chicago, but as far as I know he might actually be almost done. Emmett was never one to stress himself over...well, anything. He was brilliant, funny, and happy-go-lucky. I can't remember a time when anything has bothered him. But, that was part of his problem. Living in mom and dad's basement never bothered him. Not finishing school never bothered him. Having absolutely no job prospects if he actually did accidentally finish school never did either.

At that point in our lives, I didn't really know what I wanted to do either. I had done well in school, attending Morgan Park Academy, and was assuming I'd go on to college for something or other when I'd graduated. That plan was thrown for a loop one day shortly after graduation from high school. I was at the local mall, looking for a necklace for my girlfriend at the time, Tanya. We were about to celebrate our one year anniversary, and I supposed that I should get her something nice, or so mom had suggested. So, armed with Dad's AmEx, I had found myself peering into brightly lit, glass-topped cases at my local Kay Jewelers.

~ALM~

_My cousin, Elizabeth, offered to go to the mall with me and be my "girly" set of eyes when picking out Tanya's gift. We wandered in front of what Lizzie called "the sparklies and shinies" and I randomly pointed to things, asking for her thoughts. I really had no idea what Tanya would like or what was appropriate for a one-year anniversary when I was only just 18 years old. I mean, I wasn't shopping for an engagement ring, that was for damn sure. _

_I got Elizabeth's attention as I pointed to a little silver heart pendant that I thought might be a good fit for what I needed. Suddenly, from across the case I heard a small gasp. _

"_My God, your hands!" _

"_I'm sorry? What? Am I not supposed to touch the case? I...uh...shit...I'm sorry." _

"_No, no, no! That's not what I meant at all. Here, let me see..." the voice said as she gripped my hand firmly with both of hers. _

_Elizabeth looked at me and silently asked 'what-the-fuck-is-she-doing?' with her eyes. I just shrugged. _

_As I turned my attention back to the sales lady, Sarah, according to her nametag, she was repeatedly flipping my hand back and forth and studying my hands. _

"_Did you know that you have amazing hands?"_

"_Uh...no?" What the hell does that even mean?_

"_Well, you do. Your fingers are so long and gorgeous. They're just perfect. I'm actually a bit of an agent on the side. Modeling agent that is. And we're always looking for strong hand models. Would that be anything you'd be interested in checking out?" _

"_Um, well...I've never really thought much about it, to be honest. Uh, what...what would I have to do?" _

"_Oh nothing much actually. I'd just need you to come to the studio, maybe tomorrow afternoon, while we take some test shots. Then I will send them around to some clients and see if you've got what they're looking for. That's really it." _

"_Really? That could be okay, I guess." _

"_Let's do it! Here's my card. Stop by that address tomorrow around 4pm and we'll get you all set up. You could make some serious money, uh..." she trailed off, holding out her hand for me to shake._

"_Uh, Edward. I'm Edward," I replied, shaking her hand in return. _

"_Well, Edward, I will definitely see you tomorrow. Now, was there something here you were interested in?" _

_I shook my head slightly to get it back on track after the random ambush. "Uh, yeah. My cousin here was helping me pick something out for my girlfriend. It's, uh, our anniversary. I was thinking that heart necklace, maybe." _

_I felt like such an idiot, stumbling over all of my words all of a sudden. She'd certainly thrown me off. _

"_Oh, she'll love it! Let me just wrap it up for you!" _

"_Uh, yeah, thanks." _

_She gave me my total and as I slid dad's black AmEx across the case I swear I saw her eyes flash. Her smile grew wider as she handed over the card and a slip for me to sign. _

"_Mr. Cullen," she said sneaking a peek at the name on the card as she handed it back, "thank you so much for stopping in today. It's been a pleasure. I cannot wait to see you tomorrow." _

_I took the little black bag, emblazoned with Kay Jewelers' logo, and headed out of the store and toward the food court with Elizabeth. We decided to grab some lunch before we headed home. Sitting down at a table with our plastic trays covered with large slices of pizza and fountain sodas, Elizabeth turned to me with a concerned look on her face._

"_E, listen. I don't know what your thoughts on that woman back there are, but I just have to say this. I've seen tons of this stuff before, here at the mall with my friends. These modeling agents are really just out to get money from unsuspecting idiots. Just think about things before you get too involved, okay?" _

"_Yeah, yeah, sure thing. I'm not too worried about it. Fourteen year old girls might fall for their crap, but I'm smarter than that. I'm just going to go check out what they want to say. Don't worry about me." _

_We finished lunch and I dropped Elizabeth off at home before heading back home to Logan Square. _

_The next day, as I walked into the offices and studios of Smith Modeling, Elizabeth's words from lunch the previous day flashed back into my head. I quickly shook them away, however, knowing that I wasn't stupid and I wouldn't be fooled by someone just telling me what I wanted to hear. _

_Sarah greeted me with a warm smile when she saw me enter. She explained that she works at the mall part time mostly to be able to interface with different people and to scout for the agency. She led me down a hallway, which was lined with simple black frames showcasing model after model that the agency had found and promoted. At the end of the hall we stepped into a large workspace, complete with backdrops for taking pictures, a few high topped design desks, and a couple of closed doors to what I assumed were either bathrooms or changing rooms. _

_Sarah continued walking toward one of the desks. She chatted with what I'm assuming was one of the other agents and one of the photographers and then brought me over to one of the photo backdrops. _

"_OH. MY. GAWD. Sarah! Is this the piece of man-meat you were chattering on about yesterday? Look at that face! That hair! He's simply gorgeous. We simply MUST do a full work up on this one. We just have to. He's going to be HUGE! And I bet he is too...if you know what I'm saying." _

_My head is spinning. The most fabulously gay photographer I've ever seen is walking circles around me wide-eyed and gushing as he pokes and prods at my shirt, my tie, and my hair. I'd dressed up a little for the meeting, and suddenly I felt very, very self conscious. _

_Sarah giggles at her photographer and looks at me expectantly. "Well? What do you say? Want to do a full shoot instead of just your hands? I can shop it around a little bit and see what some of the reactions are. Laurant really is right, you could do great things with your bone structure." _

_Suddenly I feel Laurant, who has continued to poke and prod while Sarah was talking, pinch my ass. _

"_Fuck! What was that for, man?" I can feel my cheeks begin to heat up in embarrassment. _

"_Sorry! Just had to see. Just as I suspected. Tight little ass on this one. Nice pick, Sarah." _

_Sarah giggles again. "Don't mind him, Edward. He's harmless. Now, let's get started shall we? We can get some photos and then we'll talk over the process." _

"_Um, sure. Okay." I slowly make my way over to the backdrop where Laurant's camera is set up, all the while rubbing my ass. That shit hurts._

_The rest of that day passed in a blur of flashbulbs and consent forms. Before I knew it, I'd forked over almost $1500.00 and had signed a contract with Smith that would last for the next two years. I'm not entirely sure how all of that happened, but when I got home my mom could tell something was up. _

"_Honey, what's wrong?" she asked, putting a plate of dinner on the table in front of me._

"_Mom, I think I might have done something really dumb today, but I'm not sure." _

"_Tell me about it, and we'll see." _

_So I told her the whole story, starting the day before at the mall with Sarah, and then what Laurant had said, and what I'd signed, and lastly, how much I'd spent on headshots. _

"_Well, honey. That certainly is a lot to take in. How are you feeling about it all?" _

"_I'm not even sure Mom. It all just happened so fast. I mean, I probably just wasted a ton of money and nothing is going to come from it at all, I'm sure, and I just feel like I got duped." _

"_You still have school starting in the fall. If this doesn't work out, we'll just call it a loss and you'll know better next time. But, hey, you never know." _

"_Yeah I guess..." I trailed off, lost in thought. _

_The rest of June came and went with little interest. I was just enjoying this time off before I was supposed to report to the University of Chicago as an undeclared freshman in August and I still hadn't heard anything more from Sarah or Smith Modeling. Still really having no idea what I wanted to do made getting excited for college a little difficult, but I was sure that there would be fun to be had either way. A couple of weeks after our big barbeque my phone rang with a number I didn't recognize. _

"_Hello?" _

"_Hi, yes, is this Edward Cullen?" _

"_Uh, yes, who's this?" _

"_This is Bianca from Smith Modeling. Sarah asked me to give you a call and have you stop by the studio. She has an offer she'd like to go over with you. Are you available tomorrow afternoon?"_

_An offer? Holy shit. Smith Modeling is calling me with some sort of offer. Of course it's probably to stand outside of our local Abercrombie and Fitch without a shirt on and hold shopping baskets for the customers or something equally as dumb. I probably did have to check in with them since they have me under contract._

"_Um, sure. What time do you want me there?" _

"_How does 3:00 sound? Can you make it?" _

"_Sure. Thanks for calling. See you tomorrow." _

"_No problem. See you tomorrow! Bye!" _

_I wasn't sure what awaited me, but I knew tomorrow would give me at least some answers. _

~ALM~

_As I entered the studio the next day, my palms were sweaty. I don't know why I was so nervous. This was never the plan. If it didn't work out it's not like it was the end of the world. But even still, I felt like I was shaking uncontrollably. I'm wasn't, not really anyway, but I was a little jittery and nervous. Sarah greeted me and lead me back to a small, but comfortable office. _

"_So Edward, I bet you're wondering what kind of offer I wanted to talk to you about. I usually don't call the models in for offers until I know they're interested, but I just had to have you here in person for this one." _

"_Uh...okay." I felt like I was stuttering again. _

"_Well, you see, I got a message from one of my contacts this morning and they are really very interested in working with you. This is kind of huge, Edward. Are you ready?" _

"_Sure?" I swallowed thickly, waiting for whatever news Sarah had for me. I couldn't help but be cautiously excited because she seemed really pumped about whatever she has to tell me._

"_It's Ralph Lauren, Edward. They want to use you for their new campaign. Seriously. Ralph. Lauren. Do you know what that means?"_

"_Uh, not really. I'm not really sure what any of it means." _

"_Edward, it means Laurant was right. You're going to be huge!" _

~ALM~

Turns out, Sarah had been right. For the next six years, I was one of the biggest faces of Ralph Lauren. I did fragrance ads, clothing ads, hell, I even did ads for comforters and shit. I made a ton of money. I traveled. I met a lot of really interesting people. I met even more totally uninteresting people. I felt like I was on top of the world. Then, at 24, they decided I was too "old" for the brand and didn't renew my contract. I was too old for modeling period, not just for Ralph Lauren. So once again, I found myself looking at the next few years of my life with absolutely no idea where I was going to go.

I had declined my acceptance to the University of Chicago when I signed with Ralph Lauren, so there I was, 24 years old with just my high school diploma, a portfolio full of magazine ads, and no clue what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

_I'd been living mostly in New York while I worked for Ralph Lauren, and had traveled quite extensively, but now that my contract was over I'd decided to move back home. Apparently, Morgan Park Academy, my old high school, had also heard that I was back in Chicago. They called one day shortly after I'd moved back and asked if I'd be interested in coming to speak with the students about following your dreams and thinking big and all of that shit. Little did they know that modeling was never my "dream" and I hadn't even thought about it at all until that fateful day at the mall. But, I didn't really have anything else going on in my life right at the moment so I figured, what the hell? Why not? _

_Well the 'why not' part, as I found out, was that writing speeches was hard. I sat for huge lengths of time trying to figure out what to say to these kids who I was supposed to inspire. I couldn't think of anywhere to start, let alone how I was going to fill forty-five minutes. Luckily, I knew what to do. I would turn to my good friend Google. Into the search bar, I typed "inspirational speeches" and started reading. I picked themes and tidbits from here and there, putting together something that sounded pretty damn impressive if I do say so myself. Besides, they're high schoolers. How hard could they be to impress?_

_Jasper and Emmett both came with me for my appearance at the school, saying they thought it'd be fun to check out the old stomping grounds again. I'm pretty sure they just wanted to come watch me make a fool of myself. _

_The kids were pretty receptive to my talk and clapped and cheered when I was done. What surprised me more, however, was the reaction from the teachers. So many of them, teacher's I'd had just a few years earlier, were asking me if I would be doing any more speaking engagements now that I was done modeling because they loved what I'd had to say. My response to this line of questioning was a series of "maybe"s and "we'll see"s as I tried really hard to figure out what exactly I'd said that had them all falling all over each other, and fawning over me. I shook hands with Mr. Banner, my former principal, and he thanked me profusely for coming and handed me a check, signed by the school board, for $2000. _

_As I got in the car with Emmett and Jasper, I still couldn't figure out exactly what had just happened. I'd been so nervous going into the speech because I really wasn't sure what I was doing. I'd always made fun of the speakers they had come talk to us in high school, thinking how lame those idiots were, spouting off about 'reaching for the stars' and 'following your dreams' and all that hyped up bullshit. But now, I'd just done basically the same thing, and made $2000 for 45 minutes of work. Of course, at this point for me, $2000 was kind of a drop in the bucket, since Ralph Lauren paid some big money for me over the years, but still, overall it was fairly easy money. _

_We reached the apartment and Jasper joined me and Emmett inside. We decided we were going to order a pizza, drink some beer, and play some Xbox. As we went around stealing cars and picking up hookers in GTA: San Andreas* we got to talking about the day's events and how stupid it is that people actually make a living doing that motivational speaking shit. I mean, seriously, I would never in a million years pay for a ticket to see some douche in a sweater vest and blazer with patches on the elbows tell me how to live a happier life. Mostly, I'd be much happier if I wasn't listening to his bullshit, I'm sure. _

_Of course this conversation devolved into other speeches I could have given the kids, on topics ranging from how best to beat Grand Theft Auto, to how to give the perfect blow job. Of course, I know better, and I'd never actually do something like that in a school, but man, if those kids knew what was good for them they'd learn actual life skills like that quickly. Somehow, in the end, we were all a little drunk and spouting off the most ridiculous 'inspirational' quotes we could think of. _

_Turning to look me square in the eye, Jasper said to me, "Dude, I think we just found your next career move." _

"_Shit, yes, that's totally what you should do, it'd be awesome," Emmett agreed, nodding his big-ass head._

"_Oh man, I think you just might be right." _

~ALM~

Alice cleared her throat next to me, bringing me back to the here-and-now. I've got a show to do, and my public is waiting. This may have all started as a joke, but I certainly hope I don't end up as one when they figure me out.

* * *

*Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas - Released in 2004

**A/N: Thank you for reading...and pretty please, leave us a review and let us know what you think! We really do thrive on the feedback :) Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Stephanie Meyer owns it all...we just make them do what we want them to. HI! It's NaughtyHisbella! *waves* This is my first time **ever** posting a chapter on FF. I'm a bit...scared. Laureate04 says it's all good. Welcome to Bella's perspective. I write Bella, Laureate writes Edward. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm sorry for the wait. Thanks to Laureate for holding my hand through this and much much Love & Thanks to SassyKassie for her beta skills.

Let's see what Bella's about, shall we?

**BPOV**

Stupid lovey dovey people.

"Thanks for choosing Marriott," I smile. "We hope you enjoy your stay." I wave the key at Mr. Kissy Face hoping to get his attention. He's too busy loving up on his woman to notice.

"Sir?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. It's our 5 month anniversary." Mr. Moochie Lips beams at me.

"How very nice. Enjoy your evening."

Lord! All these people in love. They make me sick. That's all I see...everywhere. On T.V., friggin' Brangelina and Snooky and the DoucheBag BabyDaddy. Ugh! The worst offender is Tom Cruise. What grown man jumps on a fucking couch on national television declaring "I'm in love"? A complete ass, that's who. God, I hate people. And who comes up with those stupid names? Brangelina? TomKat? Robsten? Idiots...

Whatever.

A few more hours and I can go home and watch my latest DVD purchase, "Edward Cullen: Wherever You Go, There You Are." Edward, I feel like we're close enough to call him by his first name, is phenomenal. He so prophetic. His message has helped me step out of my shell...somewhat. I have all of his books, cds and dvds. I've seen all of his East Coast shows.

I sit here night in and night out watching people live their happy little lives. I wonder if it's all just a show? Take me for instance, outwardly, I'm an average woman who does her job, Night Manager at the Residence Inn Marriott/Cherry Hill, well. I fix credit card errors with a smile on my face. I offer the turndown service with a flourish. _"Would you like the Andes Mint on your pillow?"_ The one cool thing about working here is that I get to stay free at our affiliate hotels, which cuts costs of seeing my guru.

I have a degree from Rutgers University in Meteorology and am a member of the American Meteorological Society, but I work this dead end job at a hotel. My dream is to be a weather forecaster on one of the network news shows. Or CNN. _* sigh * _Inwardly, I'm a bit of a loner. I wouldn't say I'm shy, just not a 'people' person. I'm what you would call 'socially awkward.' I also get stage fright. I was never great at public speaking. I can talk to guests, but tell me I need to do a presentation and I clam up. My palms get sweaty, knees want to give out and the heart palpitates. That doesn't bode well for someone who wants to be on television.

In addition, I'm just lonely. I was born lonely. In fact, I was born lonely and unhappy. My life has never been the proverbial "bed of roses". To be honest, it's been a complete cluster fuck of disappointment. I know...I know. I'm bitter. Wouldn't you be bitter if your biological mother didn't want you? The man you loved didn't want you? The only people who wanted me were Charlie and Renee and what a bang up job they did, didn't they? I don't even want to think about them right now...

I met Ben at Rutgers in my Thermodynamics of Atmosphere class junior year. He was cute; tall, blonde and built like a football player. He was a brainiac instead of a linebacker. We started dating after our first group project. We were working on the role of supersaturation of ice crystals and cloud droplets. It was a whirlwind romance. Movies, concerts, dinners, storm chasing. We laughed a lot and spent time with our weather geek friends. We understood each other, or so I thought. I found him the night of our 2 year anniversary with his trouser snake invading the skanky depths of Jenna Spellman, cheerleader for the football team. He told me he couldn't deal with my constant need for reassurance that he loved me. Ben felt it just wasn't right to have to work so hard at loving someone. So, hence...he left me for the bubble headed brunette with the size AA boobs and the loose cooch. I ran into them about 6 months ago, he's a meteorologist for the National Weather Service. She's on her 4th pregnancy and looks like hell. I guess that's one thing I can be happy about. I've been alone ever since. Three years. Not for lack of trying though. Bree tried to set me up with a guy she worked with at Macy's. Turns out, Jakey was gayer than the day is long. He's one of my best friends now. Jake, Bree and Alec. We couldn't be more different, but that's why we work.

I started working for Marriott right after graduation. I threw myself into work, using it to keep my mind off of the heartache. Within a few months, I was promoted to Night Housekeeping supervisor and a few months after that, my current position. It didn't hurt that I was the only one willing to work the nightshift. Just after I became Manager, I was having a hard time settling in to the job. I needed something. I googled motivation and a video of Edward at a high school in Chicago popped up. His words moved me. His green eyes and good looks didn't hurt either.

Bree is very outgoing. She has a morning show, "Breakfast with Bree" at WMMR, one of the radio stations in town. Her favorite shift is Sunday morning and her "Bree and the Beatles" slot. She worked at Macy's and was a member of the 'Bod Squad' for the station while getting her communications degree at Rutgers. They're the 'hot' girls who do the promotions and things.

Alec is a software programmer for a video game company. He loves zombies and spends most of his free time working on his own game, "Splatter Brain." Jacob, aka Jakey, is the manager of the Nordstrom Cosmetics department at the Cherry Hill Mall. He primarily works the makeup counter. He can turn Medusa into Heidi Klum with a flick of his mascara wand.

Bree and Alec think I've lost my mind with this self-help business and the crazy money I spend on Edward's stuff. They believe I just need to stop living like a vampire and go out into the sunlight. That if I interacted with more people, I wouldn't be so awkward. They haven't known me my whole life so they don't realize this is how I've always been. Jake thinks I just need a good 'shtupping.' Bree suggested I interview for a position at her radio station. That was a conversation, let me tell ya...

"_What do you have to lose?" Bree asks for the millionth time._

"_You just don't get it, Bree. I'm not cut out for that. I'm not good with people."_

"_You are too! You talk to people everyday! You know weather like the back of your hand. All you have to do is go in and speak into a 's it. No one will see you but the others in the studio."_

"_I...I don't know."_

"_You can do this, Bell. Plus, you can get out into the world. You might like it. You say you're not a people person, but how would you really know?" Bree said, hands on her hips._

"_I'm not. We've talked about this. You, Alec and Jake are the only people I care to interact with." I shoved a bite of bagel into my mouth. _

"_I bet if Edward Cullen offered you a job, you'd take it in a heartbeat," she said bitterly._

"_Don't hate on Edward," I admonished her._

"_You spend all night at the hotel. You come home, watch one of those stupid 'motivational dvds' or read one his books for the millionth time and sleep. He's a total joke. You say he's helped you, but you are no closer to living your dream then you were a year ago!" Bree's face turned a very unbecoming shade of red._

"_He's not a joke!"_

"_Bella Swan...enough is enough! You need to stop this and do something with yourself! You say you want to be a forecaster. You also say the one thing you want is to be loved. How the hell are you going to get that if you don't get out there?" Bree yelled._

I didn't talk to her for a week. Alec ended up in the middle of it. He loved me, but he agreed, to an extent, with Bree. Jake...well...he stayed true to himself and kept out of it, only saying that I "needed to rumple someone's foreskin." _God love him._ I spent the entire week watching my dvds. I felt so pumped and motivated, I put together a new resume and prepared to submit it to all three of the big networks. That was 3 months ago and they are still sitting on my desk.

Since Mr. Moochie/Kissy Face and his woman retired to their room, it's been quiet. It's usually quiet, except for when the occasional "Snookie 2 and the Wannabes" show up, but not _this_ quiet. All I can do is read Edward's latest book and check the local headlines. My Dad, Charlie, is Police Chief here in Cherry Hill. You have to get through Camden to get here and it's not somewhere you want to have a flat tire, ya know what I mean? So, Charlie usually ends up with a few calls each night when the violence and crime makes its way into the edges of our town. We may not agree on how he and Renee raised me, but I still love him and want him safe. I grab my trusty iPhone (another perk of being a manager - money to pay my bills _and_ have toys...) and settle into a low chair behind the front desk. The news tells me that there was yet another police chase but they ventured toward West Collingswood instead of heading straight down 38. I scroll through further only glancing at the headlines until one of my alerts pinged.

"Ohhh, Edward...you're coming back...how did I miss this?"

He was coming to Madison Square Garden for two nights in May. I'm usually up on all of his appearances. There's no way I'm missing this one and look through room availability at the New York Marriott. Luckily, there's a single available for the Saturday night show. Quickly, I book it for myself. _Staying for free rocks! _ Tomorrow, or I suppose tonight, since its' now about 4 am, is his show in Philly. Guess who has a ticket...yeah, me.

Slowly but surely, my shift ends. _Thank God! _ I want to get home and write Edward a new letter. I usually write one once or twice a month. I'm positive I'm his biggest fan. I'll write him, take a couple hour nap and then get ready for the show tonight.

Traffic is light so I make it home in about 10 minutes. After brewing a small pot of coffee, I transfer it into a carafe to stay hot and head to my desk. I pull out the purple stationary Bree bought me for my birthday.

_April 9, 2010_

_Dear Edward,_

_Good Morning! It's me, your biggest fan again! I just wanted to write you and tell you I really enjoyed your presentation on being the best Customer Service Representative. It has helped me immensely in my occupation as Night Manager for a national hotel chain. I purchased your newest dvd, "Wherever You Go, There You Are" directly from your website. It arrived yesterday. _

_I can't wait to sit down and watch it._

_Today is your appearance in Philadelphia. Once again, I will be in the audience. I never miss an East Coast show. Your words and enthusiasm have really helped me. I have mentioned before that my friends think I have lost my mind, but I wish I could get them to just one of your shows. I really think they'd understand and would be impacted by your words. I just found out about the Madison Square Garden show in May. I'll be there! I'm going to suggest they purchase a ticket too._

_Thank you so much for everything you do for people. You cannot imagine how much you have helped._

_Sincerely, Your biggest Fan_

_Bella Swan_

I have to move around the resume copies to find an envelope but am successful. I stamp it and make my way to the mailbox. Bree's ringtone blares from the pocket of my sweatshirt on my way up.

"'Lo..."

"Bell! You're off tonight, right?"

"I have plans, Bree."

"What do you mean you have plans?" Bree whines in my ear.

"I'm driving to Philly tonight. Edward has a show there," I smile in excitement as I close the door to my apartment.

"Are you f'n kidding me? How much money are you going to spend on this gamooch? He's a crook, a phony," she growls.

"He is not. You've never even watched one of the dvds I have. I think if you watched just one or came to a show with me, you'd get it. I found out today he's playing at MSG in May. Come with me?"

"No. There's no way I'm wasting my money on that bullshit. You shouldn't either. Forget this Cullen guy and come out with me and Jake. We're meeting some of the hot bods from the station. Drinks and dancing..." Bree's voice goes higher. I think she thinks it sounds enticing. I hate dancing. I have two left feet and usually end up on my ass.

"While the drinking sounds fabulous, the dancing doesn't. I'd rather spend the evening listening to Mike Newton rip off Edward. I'll text you when it's over. If I feel like it, I'll meet ya." I've opened my macbook and pulled up Edward's site. I purchase a ticket for the Saturday MSG show. An email tells me I can pick it up at Will Call. _SCORE! _"Listen, I need to get some sleep before tonight. Have a good time."

"Whatever. One of these days you'll see what a scam this guy is. Be careful, please." Bree sounds exasperated with me, as usual.

"I will. Be safe too and give the Jakester a hug for me. Make sure he shaves his legs if he wears those shorts again. You know how he gets when he's around those hot bod friends of yours." I giggle and hang up. The second time Jake met us at the bar, he showed up wearing a pair of gold hotpants. Between all the hair on his legs and his tall tommy hanging out, I was gagging on my Heineken. The man's got more hair than Sasquatch. I forced my purple trench coat at him to cover that shit up.

I make my way to my bedroom and flop onto the bed. Hopefully, I'll get a few good hours of sleep and be 'open,' as Edward says, to his message tonight.

A/N: I'd be open to anything that man gave me...Just sayin' Leave us some sugar...we tend to write faster (or atleast I do...) Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, fav'd! We truly appreciate you taking the time to read our little story...Much Love, Naughty (NHB) and Laureate04


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'd like to take just a second to say that watching today's Presidential Inauguration on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, in the year of the 50th Anniversary of the March on Washington was quite the sight. Sorry, history teacher geek out here. That being said - thanks for coming over to read this little update. It got started a bit ago but most of it got banged out today. Here's a little more of our guy, E. Thanks to my partner in crime, NaughtyHisBella for her guidance on this chapter - and making sure this whole story is still making sense to us both. And special thanks to Ms. SassyKassie for the beta services...and your addition of a comma made the chapter what it is ;) Love ya, girlie! Ok...and now, away we go! (*Please note - the numbers are 'footnotes' and notes appear at the bottom with our other A/N)**

* * *

_I care desperately about what I do. Do I know what [idea] I'm selling? No. Do I know what I'm doing today? No. But I'm here, and I'm gonna give it my best shot._1

This is the little pep talk that I give myself every time I get ready to give a show. Sometimes I _don't_ really know what I'm doing or what I'm selling. I fell into this job a few years ago and ever since, there are days where I just feel like I'm keeping my head above water. This whole motivational speaking thing still sometimes feels like foreign territory for me and I'm wading in the deep end with no lifeguard on duty. But whatever happens, I'm in this all the way, until it's all over.

As I make my way down the long, sterile, concrete hallway backstage at the Wells Fargo Center, I can hear the deafening murmur of voices increase in volume the closer I come to the stage door. This isn't the loud roar of a rock crowd that would be here to see the likes of Bon Jovi or Maroon 5, or the screamy-high pitched ear-ringing noise of the Justin Bieber tween crowd, but it's a pretty full house tonight and that's a lot of voices, even if they are simply speaking at a normal volume.

This is where I start to feel the adrenaline pump through my veins. The stage, in recent years, has been the place where I feel the most at home. Traveling and sleeping in a different city each night, several months a year can be rootless. It makes me feel like sometimes I don't belong anywhere. But up on that stage, surrounded by thousands of people who came to see me? That's where I tend to feel like me, to feel like _Edward Cullen, Motivational Speaker._

The event host, some local news anchor or something, gets up on stage and I hear the hush fall over the crowd. They're ready. He starts by welcoming them to the Wells Fargo Center and reminding them about exits and silencing their cell phones. After the friendly reminders, he strives to get the crowd pumped up for me asking if they're ready to hear some 'words of wisdom' or something along those lines. They never know exactly how to hype up a motivational speaker. It's something that we've struggled with since I started this thing. I've suggested a couple of times that we have someone from our staff do it, that way we could hype everything the way that we want, but this is usually just easier. Plus, we haven't found the right person yet.

Upon hearing my name and the applause and cheers of the crowd I know it's time. I take a deep breath, shake out my arms and legs slightly to clear some nervous energy and plaster a smile on my face. Climbing the four large stairs that head up to the stage from the back I begin waving, welcoming the crowd and acknowledging their welcoming sounds. I take my place in the center of the stage, picking up the microphone - I don't like mic stands much - and dive right in.

"Hi everyone! Welcome to the wonderful Wells Fargo Center. Thank you all for joining me tonight. I'm looking forward to our evening together - I think we're going to have a great time."

The large, almost sold out crowd, cheers and claps and the smile that I had plastered on my face morphs into something more real. As lost as I might sometimes feel doing this motivational speaking thing, the roar of a crowd always makes me feel good. The fact that people actually come to see me and cheer and buy my books makes this all worth it. And strangely enough, I hear from fans all the time that tell me how my words have helped them. That I've convinced them to stop smoking or drinking. That I've gotten them to leave a job they hate for something that makes them much happier. That my words about openness and honesty, as ironic as they may be, have saved their friendships or marriages. That's all I can really ask of this craziness, that someone, somewhere can improve their lives from what I have to say.

"Tonight I'd like to talk to you all about happiness. About doing what makes _you _happy. So many people spend their lives doing things because they _think_ they have to rather than because they want to. In our lives, the only true path to happiness is to do what we want, what we love. You should always do what you love and love what you do, for it is the true path to joy."

I start speaking to the crowd about things I know. I really love my job, as much as I might joke about not knowing what I'm doing. I love people and I now kind of love being the center of attention when I'm speaking, knowing that everyone is truly here to see me, since I'm the only one up here.

"Growing up there are always going to be people to tell you that you can't do this or you can't do that. As much as we profess in the _American Dream_ there are dreams that are less realistic or attainable for certain people. And don't you worry, I'm sure you all know, that there are always people to remind you that your dream of being the first astronaut to walk on Mars, isn't likely going to happen. To that I say, better to try and fail than never try at all. It is better to put yourself out there and open yourself up to the possibility than to have never tried to set foot on Mars."

It may sound ridiculous to encourage people to walk on Mars, but really, who would have thought 6 years ago I would have had a crazy successful modeling career and would have now been one of the world's biggest-selling motivational speakers? But looking back, I am pretty happy with the life I've made. Of course there are things missing. I'd love to share this success I've had with someone, I'd love to be closer to my family. I'd even love to understand more fully just what I help people with and truly know if this is what I should be doing. However, I'm happy for the time being. I like what I do most days. I get to see new places and new faces all the time. I'm as happy as I'm going to be for now.

"There are always opportunities to make choices about your life and what you want to do with it. If it's what you want, you should major in philosophy, even if it seems there's absolutely no way to make a living at it.2 Because if it's truly what you want to do, you will find a way to make a living - you will find the strength to do what you love. You cannot be happy by doing what others tell you. If your happiness depends on what somebody else does [or says], I guess you have a problem."3

I laugh a bit at this line. It's one I found somewhere, I can't even remember where, but I just like the phrasing. One thing about my speaking is that I will always be blunt and tell people how it is. And really, if you let someone else tell you what you have to do, you'll never truly be happy.

"If later, it turns out that the philosophy degree isn't making you happy, you must do something else. You cannot be afraid to move along, to try something else. In life we make the best mistakes we know how to make. Then, with luck, we go out and make new ones.4 Try and try again. There are few times when you absolutely cannot try something else and they usually involve jail time or serious injury. Neither of which should be the results of looking for a new job."

The crowd laughs and I know that this speech is going just the way I wanted. As much as the topics I discuss can really be very serious, they're also here for a show and I intend to entertain. I continue to speak for the next 45 minutes, discussing choosing the past that works for you and along that path you are likely to find friends and relationships that not only share in your loves and hopes, but also understand what you truly want out of life. Maybe one day I should take my own advice. I mean, it would be nice to have someone besides Jazz to share this life with. He's great and all, but he's just not my type.

"Just remember, keep doing, keep changing your mind, keep pursuing your happiness. Happiness comes from being a little uncomfortable as often as possible so you're always learning and growing.5 That is what will make you happy and you will find that you'll surround yourselves with those who believe the same.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. I hope you had a wonderful evening and I hope to get to see you again. Thanks!"

Waving, I stepped back over to the mic stand to replace the device so I can leave the stage. I give one last big smile at the crowd, take a little bow, and then head backstage. I have a meet and greet scheduled with some fans before I get to leave for the night.

I head back down that same concrete hallway I walked up in, but to a larger backstage conference room where they have my meet and greet set up. There's a long table so that I can sign books, and two separate doors so they can form the line in and out of the room efficiently. I take my seat behind the table, fiddling with the little pile of Sharpies that Jasper has prepared for me, and reach for my glass of water, also ready and waiting. Jazz buzzes into the room, wearing his damn, unplugged headset, and waving his clipboard of little sketches at me and tells me that the meet-and-greeters are ready and waiting. Many people who interact with the public like I do hate these things, but not me. I truly like seeing and meeting my fans. Some of them are so exuberant and happy to see me that I just cannot help but feed off of that excitement. Some are shy and hesitant but trying and I can only hope and assume that it's my doing that getting them to come out of their shells.

I sign and chat for over an hour after the show, it's one of the things that drives my crew nuts. I take my time and shake hands and talk with fans. I spend what might be too much time with each person, but they're willing to spend their time waiting for me, which part of me still doesn't really understand, so I'm willing to give them a little bit of mine. I mean, for these VIP tickets some of these people paid like $375.00. I feel like that's worth a minute or two of my time, you know?

As people pour past I hear 'thank you's and 'I can't believe it's and small gasps or giggles here or there. Many of my fans are women, and I have to admit that I often wonder if that isn't stemming from my past as a male model. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking.6 And I keep hearing how popular as a model I was, but I've got to think that my looks aren't everything.

As the line dies down and most everyone has moved out of the room and onto whatever the rest of their night holds, I'm signing one last book. I look up and my eyes pop, wondering what he's doing here asking for my autograph. Removing the low slung baseball cap from his head he smirks.

"Mike, what the hell are you doing here? And why on earth do you want my autograph?" I ask, in a low, whisper-yell, trying not to make a scene.

"Heh, I don't really care about the autograph, but I figured it was the easiest way to get to you. We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you Mike. We have nothing to talk about. You don't like me, I don't like you. In fact, how did you even get in here - you're supposed to be on the restriction list after San Francisco," I retort.

"Used my mom's maiden name - you're talking to Mike Cope right now, not Mike Newton. I knew you didn't want me around but we really do need to talk. I have a couple of serious pieces of information that you're going to want to hear."

"Mike, in case you didn't notice, I'm kind of in the middle of working here right now. I mean, not that you'd know anything about that. How many seats were left unsold at your last show again? Oh that's right, about three quarters of them. So if you'll excuse me I want to wrap up this sold out arena show and get to bed." I stood from the table, walking toward the other side of the room away from the man who was quickly becoming my nemesis.

"Edward, I would seriously suggest that you listen to me. I don't think news of a lawsuit would sit well with the public, especially if it blindsided you."

I turned slowly, his words slithering down my spine, chilling me, even in the warm room.

"What in the fuck are you talking about, a lawsuit?"

"Edward, give me 15 minutes of your time and I promise I'll explain everything. But for now, I think you'll want to get some of these other people out of here first."

"Jazz!"

"Yo, E, what's up? What's wrong?" Jazz rushes to my side, clipboard in hand.

"Uh, well, Mike Newton is here," I start, waving my hand in the direction of Mike's out of shape form, "and he says that he needs to talk to me about some lawsuit. I get the feeling that we need to hear him out before something blindsides us. Can we clear out the room?"

"Shit! Lawsuit? What the hell could he be talking about? Yeah, yeah, let me get the room cleared, just a minute."

He ran off yelling for Alice. This was more than Jasper ever wanted to handle. Thankfully, his wife was well equipped to handle this type of security situation and within 10 minutes the room was cleared of everyone but essential staff, myself, and Mike. Sitting back down at the signing table and pulling up some extra chairs, Jazz, Alice, Rose, and I sit on one side of the long table, while Mike assumes his position on the opposite side.

He removes a packet of papers from inside the back cover of his copy of my book, unfolds them and slides them across the table.

"Look. Here's the deal, Edward. We don't like each other, but I also don't think that you're genuine in this whole thing. I'm actually trying to help people and yet you get all the fans and ticket sales. Your speaking is such a crock of shit. You quote those damn motivational posters that hang in high school hallways. You repeat yourself over and over and speak in circles. I listened to your show tonight and you didn't really _say_ anything at all. You told people to major in philosophy and walk on Mars. This is ridiculous. Not only that, but none of your ideas are your own, and that's where this paperwork comes in," he says, tapping the sheets of paper in front of him.

"I feel like you're simply stealing other people's ideas and I can't take it anymore. I can't take your killing my career in your disregard for this profession. You make me feel like a laughing stock. And I'm not going to put up with it anymore. I'm suing you under the issue of intellectual property theft and copyright infringement. You are constantly using quotes from others and taking bits of other speeches and things you've seen. You never credit anyone else and you're making a killing. I _will_ see some of that money because it's not fair."

I snort in response, suppressing a laugh. This is absolutely ridiculous. Borrowing ideas and information is what we _all_ do. People know everything that we tell them. Somewhere in their psyches they truly know what we're saying already, they just need someone to point it out to them. Really, I think this motivational speaking thing is kind of a crock myself. I'd never buy into one, but there are people out there who need it, who need the idea or the direction and for them, I'll keep doing what I do, even if I might not fully understand it. I've said before that sometimes I feel like a phony, but so long as people are willing to listen I'll be here.

"Mike, you're full of shit. You borrow stuff, I borrow stuff, what difference does it make? I still don't understand why you're coming to me with this now."

"Because you're a fraud and I don't like you and I want you out of my way. With you done in this business, I'll be the one with sold out crowds and books on the bestseller list. I've been making my way in this business for years and all of a sudden you just show up, all fresh off the runway and you're the biggest thing out there. It's not right! I mean, I've been doing this for _years!_ And you just show up. You have your very own 'bod squad' here with your security ladies. I've hired Jessica and Lauren. Jasper keeps all your shit organized for you. I've got Eric as a PA. I just don't understand and I don't like it. You don't do anything different than I do, but I can barely publish a new book without putting up my own funds for it. I can't take it anymore and I'm going to bring to light what a fraud you really are."

With that, he stood from his seat and walked out the door, leaving Jazz, Rose, Alice and I to stare at the stack of papers he'd left on the table. It was a letter describing my work and citing examples of quotes I'd used in different speeches and books. I had to admit, it looked bad. I glanced left and right, looking at my team.

"Shit. Looks like we have some work to do. We're going to need a plan."

* * *

_Quotes Appearing in this Chapter:_

_1 Hansel - Zoolander_

_2 Jessica Stanley - The Twilight Saga: Eclipse_

_3 Richard Bach_

_4 Joan Oliver Goldsmith_

_5 Rich Hatch_

_6 Derek Zoolander - Zoolander_

**A/N: Thanks for reading! We really appreciate the support and love you all show us! Now, show us some more with a review, please! Haha. Really though - leave us a review and let us know what you think and we'll be happy campers. Love you all! Until next time...**


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns the Twilight world and it's characters. No copyright infringement is intended. While they are hers, this storyline is OURS. Thanks be to SassyKassie for her beta skills and making sure my t's are crossed and my i's are dotted. Spanks, baby!

Special Thanks to my girl, Laureate04 because without her...this wouldn't get written. She puts up with my constant insecurity and endless questions. You are the BEST writing partner!

Chapter 4

BPOV

**6:10 am**

_I knew I shouldn't have had that third cup of coffee._ I run to the bathroom and shuffle back to bed. I'm tired but I have like ten million things going on in my head that won't let me sleep.

_That couple last night was just nauseating. All lovey dovey and crap. Ugh! If that's what being in love is like...they can keep it. _

_Should I wear those jeans Jake made me buy that fit me like a second skin or a pair of my comfy Levi's? The black blouse or the red one? Should I wear my boots or my converse? This being-a-girl shit is for the birds!_

_I should call Leah. I haven't seen her in a bit. Maybe she'll meet me for dinner before the show?_

I grab my cell and scroll through for her number. I hope it's the correct one. She's always changing it because she can't remember shit. It's early, but Leah doesn't ever seem to sleep.

"Yeah?"

"Leah? It's Bella."

"Hey, girlfriend! What up?"

Leah's a trip and a half. Besides having the memory of a goldfish, she's crazier than Annie Wilkes from Misery. The last time we got together, she pulled three fire alarms in Macy's while screaming at the top of her lungs, "Down with Diddy! Martha is the anti-christ!" and then ditched me. Thank God Jake was working that day. He walked over and explained Leah was a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket. The cops were ready to haul me away when they got a hold of the security footage of the two of us shopping. She told me a week later that she was having boyfriend issues that day. What did I tell ya? Love makes people do the craziest fucking stuff.

"I'm headed up your way tonight. You want to meet at that Thai place you like?"

"What you doin' up here? Is it that informercial dude?" I hear her take a deep drag off her Marlboro Silver.

"Informercial? You really need to look into some of that gingko biloba shit," I laugh. "He's a motivational speaker."

"Hmmm..." she ponders. After a moment, she laughs, "Sure thing, Swan. I'll run right out and get me some. What time does your motivational guy go on?"

"Show starts at seven. How about we meet up at half past a hand?" That's five-thirty for those who don't speak Leah.

"My Thai it is," she says and hangs up. Not even a goodbye. That's how Leah works.

_Should I wear my hair up? Straighten it? Go au naturel?_

_I should pack a bag, just in case. _ I reserved a room at the Marriott in the event I didn't want to drive home. Free bed. _Schwing!_

**8:17 am**

Jeez, I really need to get some sleep. If I don't, I'll either pass out on the way there or during the show. I get up again and make myself a sandwich. Yeah, I know it's eight in the morning, but to normal people it's like...I don't know...seven at night? That's the life of someone who works the graveyard shift. I plod back to my bed with Edward Cullen's newest book, "Being Your Own Person."

After a couple chapters, I realize that I need to make some changes. I need to grab the proverbial bull by the horns and be myself. I need to stop putting all my issues on Charlie and Renee. Even Leah, for that matter. Maybe Bree's right? I should quit the vampire life and get out in the real world.

I read a few more chapters and my eyes finally start to droop.

**4:56 pm**

What the hell is that noise? Jesus! If Jake's here meditating again with his indian music, I'll kill him. I sit up and pick up my iPhone to check the time. The tinkling noise is coming from it. I look at the time and scream.

"I'm fuckin' late! Son. Of. A. Whore's. Uncle!"

Throwing the covers off, I hit last number dialed.

"Yeah, you've reached Leah. So what! Leave a damn message! Peace!"

"Lee, I'm not gonna make it. We'll meet soon. Ciao!" I quickly end the call and turn on the shower. I do a cursory job of scrubbing, buffing and rinsing. It'll have to do. I dry myself and lather on some lotion. I always lotion, late or not.

I rummage through my closet and find a few pairs of jeans. I shimmy my ass into the expensive pair and decide they are too restricting. It takes a few minutes to get them off. Now I know what Jon Bon Jovi goes through with those damned leather pants of his. I slip into a pair of my favorites and flip through my shirts. Cutesy floral? Striped V-neck? Black peasant? Red one it is, because the black one has the huge deodorant stain on the shoulder. _Fucking Jake._ I can't decide which shoes to wear.

The red boots? Nah, too matchy matchy. The black ones? _Not if I want to continue to use my ankles. Damn four inch heels._ Converse? New black ones or the old beat up grey ones? The grey ones have seen better days. Time to bury them in Charlie's backyard. I'll need to call Jake. He always performs the last rites. It's fun to see my way-out-of-the-closet friend dressed as a priest. Black ones it is.

I have no more time so I slip a hair tie around my wrist and go with my natural waves. I throw my makeup bag in my backpack and hit the road.

My Honda Civic, "Miley" (because she's got about two hundred thousand on her) groans as I push her to top speed on the highway. I'm not concerned with a ticket. Chief Charlie would take care of it. Edward's cd, "Keys to being the best customer service representative" plays, drowning out the poor girl's protests. The man's voice is dreamy and puts me in a trance. Miley, seemingly equipped with a homing beacon, takes me toward the Wells Fargo Center.

I park her in the lot of the Marriott and head into the lobby. Emily, one of my former co-workers, is manning the front desk.

"Bella Swan, fancy seeing you here! You staying with us again?" The petite brunette smirks while looking up my reservation.

Even though I haven't seen her in about six months, I remember not to stare at her scar. Her husband, Sam, had a terrible reaction to vicodin after some oral surgery one night. She ended up with a scar running down the side of her face.

"You know," she whispers and motions me forward with her finger. "That motivational dude of yours is staying here too." She winks at me.

"I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but that may sway my decision," I smile at her. "Since I'm not sure, can I leave my bag in the office? What time will you be off?"

"Yeah, no problem. I'm here until two-thirty. Our night manager's wife had a baby this morning, so we're all picking up the slack." Emily takes my bag and places it in the office. "You better get going. I hear the show starts at seven and it's already quarter past six."

"Thanks, I'll see you later." I wave and make my way out front. Traffic doesn't look too bad as I hail a cab. It only takes a minute or two for one to pull up.

"Wells Fargo Center, Broad Street entrance, please." I ask the cabbie as I slip on my seatbelt. I've been in a fair number of these death machines. These guys drive like they're in the Daytona 500, weaving in and out of traffic going about 180.

Twenty minutes later, I feel like I drank a Monster. My heart is beating so fast, I almost feel the need to find a defibrillator to knock it back into sinus rhythm. I throw a twenty at the driver and slam the door. Let's hope I don't get "Amun" on the way back to the hotel!

After purchasing another copy of his book, because you never know if you'll get the chance to get an autograph, I find my seat in the 101 section. I'm center stage, sixth row back. I'm gonna get some great shots with my phone of my philosophical guru. I look around a bit, seems like he's doing this show in the 'round'. He's got freedom to face all sides of the crowd. It's packed too. I scan through the chapters I read this morning while waiting for the show to start.

Around seven-fifteen, the local Weather Forecaster for NBC10, Dave Floren steps out and introduces Edward.

"Good evening. Is everyone ready to be motivated?" Dave asks. The crowd around me goes crazy.

_Yeah, buddy. Get off the stage. I'm not here to see you. Maybe go read those weather charts and tell me it's gonna snow tomorrow like you did last July. _

This guy is an idiot. He came to speak while I was at Rutgers. He couldn't forecast himself out of a paper bag. He literally told us last July that we were going to get 6 inches of snow.

In July.

It was 101 friggin' degrees.

_Ass-wipe._

"It's a beautiful night here in Philly, I hope you'll be inspired to go outside and enjoy it! Ladies and gentleman, your speaker for the evening, Edward Cullen!"

I sit up in my seat a little, trying to get a glimpse of his tousled hair as he makes his way on-stage. He's dressed in dark jeans, a blue button down and a dark grey suit coat. Edward gives his signature wave and smiles at the crowd. I watch as Dave and he shake hands. He takes a drink of water from a bottle and sets it back on the stool in the middle of the stage.

I almost can't contain my excitement when he picks up the microphone. I'm mesmerized as he talks. I catch the topic, "Being Your Own Person." I feel like we're on the same fucking channel.

I nod my head at everything he says.

Then it dawns on me just what he's saying...something's not right. I listen a little harder and things aren't really making sense.

"_Of course, we know, that all our wants and desires are shaped by those around us - but wanting to emulate others or avoid all association with others, dependent on the situation is key."_

Uh... our needs are based on who we do or don't associate with? I hang with Jake, but that doesn't mean I need to be butt-fucked. There is no stopping in the red zone.

"_Because _'yourself' _is something only you can truly know, you must sometimes use self examination to look at where you want to find yourself_."

Seriously, dude? What? My mind is having a hard time wrapping around that one.

I've seen this man numerous times on the east coast. I have all his dvds. Something ain't right in Denmark tonight. I watch as he paces the stage as if he's a lion in a cage. The microphone keeps switching back and forth between his hands.

He talks about career changes and how you learn from your professors and other students and that this is beneficial to whatever you choose to do, but...

"_You cannot let those around you influence your love of your work."_

He's contradicting himself. Edward pulls at his hair a few times, causing it to become an even more riotous mess.

"_Being your own person means being able to be yourself - no matter where you are - but you must always be yourself in a way that fits the situation. To work with others, whether at a job or in a social situation, you want to tailor your social skills to the occasion._"

Edward, Edward, Edward...what is going on with you, man?

He just told me to be myself no matter what, but that I need change myself based on who I'm with or what I'm doing. Now, I understand if, let's say, you swear a lot, you might want to put the kabosh on that shit when you're working or at a fucking baptism or some shit. That's not at all what he just said. That's nothing like what I read in the book this morning.

I listen to him talk in a circle for the better part of an hour. My mind cannot grasp anything he said. It's a jumbled mess of contradictions.

The man thanks us for coming and waves as he walks off the stage. I watch him, shaking my head. Everyone has an off day. Jasper Whitlock, Edward's Manager, walks on stage as I grab my bag and book.

"Ladies and gentleman, again, thank you so much for coming tonight. Unfortunately, there will not be any autograph signings this evening. Please drive safely and remember to Be your Best Self."

I sigh disappointedly and toss the book into my bag. "So much for that."

People all around me talk excitedly about Edward's message tonight. I can only shake my head in disbelief. _Really people?! Are you that stupid? _ He told us to be ourselves and then told us to conform to society!

"Yo! Watch where you're goin', Bitch!" some goombah yells at me as I push through the crowd.

The excited mood I came in with left the building when Edward told me I needed to surround myself with people I wanted to be like to truly be my own person.

I want to be a weather forecaster but I'm not going to hang out with that douche bag from NBC10. I'm pretty sure he got his degree from a friggin' cracker jack box. I didn't bust my ass to tell people we'd get 6 inches of snow in July.

Squeezing my ass through a large grouping of primping women, I make it out to the front of the arena. The street is lined with cabs. These guys are going to make a killing. I slip into the third one and see my driver is a fairly normal looking blonde guy. The name on his license tells me he is Garrett.

"Where might we be takin' ye this evening?" he asks in an Irish lilt.

"Marriott, please," I answer scrolling through the texts I missed from Jake.

Bitch, get ur ass here! Bree's found 3 hotties and 1 has ur name tattooed on his luv muscle! ~ J

I can tell Jakey's been drinking because the messages get raunchier and raunchier as time goes by. I decide to respond to his first one and call it a night.

Tatt'd Luv muscle?! Sounds like he's ur type, sweets! me = hotel. Call u l8tr. xx - B I hit enter and relax into the seat.

"Miss? We've arrived. Might you want to be getting out?" Garrett asks smiling at me from the rearview mirror.

"Oh, yes," I sigh. "Thanks." I hand him a twenty while I pull the door handle. It swings open quickly causing my body to jerk out. "What the frick?"

Some nut fuck in the three piece suit has his hand on the door frame, but he's staring at the bleach blonde with size triple e tits at his side. One wrong move and she'll knock his eye out with the right one.

"Jimmy! You practically dragged this little one right out the cab!" Bimbette laughs. Her voice sounds like she's smoked a few hundred camels today. "I'm sorry, sugah!" She slips her hand under my arm to help me up. She reaches in with her red nailed claw, grabs my purse and tosses it at me. The two slide past into the seat as I stand on the curb watching them in confusion before Garrett pulls away.

This night can't get any weirder. I decide a few drinks at the hotel bar are in order and make my way to the front desk.

Emily quickly gets me my bag and the key to my room. Once I've texted both Bree and Jake that I'm staying, I pull my hair up and wash my face. Grabbing my license, money, room key and my second copy of Edward's book, I head down to the bar.

Ten minutes later, I'm seated in a tall stool, sipping a tanqueray and tonic. I open the book and scan the pages looking for anything that might even resemble what Edward said this evening. The longer I sit here, I am absolutely positive something is wrong. There's nothing that sounds remotely like tonight's show. I sigh to myself and pick up where I left this morning, getting lost in the message.

Someone moves onto the barstool next to me, his right leg pumps up and down nervously.

"Hey. Can I get a Heineken?" The voice asks. My brain registers a familiarity. A green bottle slides across the width of the bar. "Thanks."

I glance to my left and the shock of bronze hair makes my breath stutter. _No...It can't fucking be him! _ I try to remain nonchalant as I turn to get a better view of him. I'm met with a pair of the deepest green eyes I've ever seen.

"You're..." I stammer. "You...fuck...um...are you?" I flip the cover of the book over and point at it.

"Yes," he smiles tightly.

"Wow."

"Great," he moans next to me.

"I was just at the Wells Fargo," I say and swallow thickly. "Is everything alright?"

"What?!" he asks, staring at me.

"Um...I'm a fan. I've been to a lot of your shows and," I take a sip of courage from my drink, "you seemed off tonight." I shrug.

"Yeah, not a good night. I'm Edward," he says offering me his hand. "But you already know that." He laughs.

"Bella."

Out of my vision's periphery, I see a curvy blonde making her way over. "Edward!" She says as she gets closer. The man sighs next to me.

"Can I sign that for you?" He smiles softly and points at the book. I nod and push it toward him. He pulls a black sharpie out of his pocket and opens the book.

"Edward! Let's go. You have a flight to catch early in the morning," the blonde says as she skids to a stop and glares at me.

"Yeah, just a minute, Rose. I'm signing this for Bella." He smiles and pushes the book back toward me. "It was nice to meet you, Bella. Have a nice night," he says and stands up. Rose huffs and turns toward the elevators. He follows for a moment and then turns and looks back at me, giving a little wave with two fingers. I know my mouth is hanging open.

After the elevator doors close, blocking him from view, I open the book.

_**Bella,**_

_**Thanks for being my biggest fan.**_

_**You're beautiful just the way you are!**_

_**Edward Cullen x**_

I stare at the page for what seems like forever. The bartender clears his throat and tells me he's closing up for the night. I place a ten on the bar and gather my things. I grip the book tightly as I make my way back to my room.

A/N: Thanks so much to all of you for your patience. We do try our best to get each chapter out to you. Laureate and I are both writing solo stories while doing this. RL also gets in the way. While we still cannot give you a regular posting schedule, we hope you'll stick with us!

Fic Recs: We feel you SHOULD be reading these two stories by the utterly fabulous, TongueTwied.

Harvard Can Wait s/7745971/1/Harvard-Can-Wait

Harvard Can Wait, no longer s/8725927/1/Harvard-Can-Wait-no-longer

Give these a whirl and our girl some love because...she's just simply one of the BEST!

As always, reviews give us...a little motivation... ~ NaughtyHB


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: I have to give a huge shout out to those who are sticking with us and our incredibly terrible time management with this story. We really do want to get this story out to you but you know how real life can get, so thank you much for sticking with us and for the reviews. **

**Thanks to my awesome writing partner Naughty for her input on this chapter, and a huge thank you to our beta and the other third of the Pervsketeers, SassyKassie...we love you girl! **

**And now, back to the story.**

* * *

I paced around the room as Jasper, Rose and Alice spoke quietly at the table. After Mike left, my team went into immediate crisis mode. I, however, was feeling like we weren't really doing anything. I had fallen into this business and now it seemed I was going to fall out of it just as quickly. And on top of that, Mike _Fucking_ Newton was going to be the one to take me out. I couldn't have that.

None of us were truly equipped to deal with this legal situation. Sure, Jasper was smart, and he was a damn fine manager and personal assistant, even if he did wear that fucking headset everywhere like an idiot and doodle all over his clipboard, but none of us were really sure what the implications of such accusations would be.

"Emmett."

Jazz looked up from the papers that Mike had left behind. "Huh?"

"We need Emmett. We need a lawyer to understand all of that shit and what it might mean for us. We need to talk to Emmett. As much as he's a lazy lump most of the time, he really does know his stuff. Maybe he can help us figure this out."

"You're right. We should talk to him first, see what he has to say. But we've got one more night here in Philly before we head home. Give him a call and give him a heads up, but you need sleep and you need to focus. You've got thousands of paying fans to put on a show for tomorrow night," he replied.

I scrolled to Emmett's number in my cell and made the call. I'm pretty sure he was trying to carry on the conversation while playing a video game because his responses came mostly in grunts and 'uh huh's instead of actual words.

"God damnit Em, I need you to pay attention and be serious for a minute here. Fucking pause your game."

"Huh? Um, sure Ed, I got it. Lawsuit. Mike Newton. Goddamn fucking shit that guy hits hard. Fuck. Uh, yeah. I'll take a look when you get back to town. When are you back?"

"I have a show tomorrow night. We'll be in on Sunday."

"Sounds good. See you then. I gotta go."

In the background I could still hear him swearing at his game. Fucker was too lazy to even hit end call on the phone.

Sighing, I hung up, shaking my head at my twin's exasperating nonchalance at everything that happens in life.

"What's up with Em?" Jasper asks, looking up from the mess of paperwork.

"He was more concerned with whatever video game he was playing than what I was saying but he did say he'd take a look when we got back on Sunday. We're going to have to hold his hand to the fire on this one or it'll never get done. God damn, that boy has absolutely no motivation to do anything. Except maybe eat. He does love eating."

"That he does, man, that he does. Well, we'll talk to him. Maybe get him into a room without a television or Xbox and see what happens. I'm sure he can help us. This thing can't be all that hard, but I just don't know where to start with it all. We definitely need a lawyer's eye."

"I hear ya. There's definitely got to be something that we can do, but we'll need him for sure."

~ALM~

I couldn't get Newton out of my head. His accusations had been running through my head all night, keeping me up tossing and turning. He kept talking about how I was stealing other peoples' ideas and words and that all I did was talk like one of those motivational posters. I didn't really understand.

I mean, when I first fell into this, that's how I got started. I watched what others were doing. When I was asked to speak at my old school, I sat down to watch videos of other speakers and gain some insight into what this speaking thing was all about. Wasn't that how everyone learned? By drawing inspiration and technique from others and then molding and changing it?

But at the same time, I couldn't stop thinking about what he said. I psyched myself out pretty badly. I simply couldn't get out of my head and thinking of all the things I planned to say that night. I was overthinking things, something that no one could ever accuse me of before. I didn't even think about where I'd been headed all my life. I fell into modeling. I fell into public speaking. And now, here I was, all of a sudden analyzing everything I'd ever said. This was definitely a different perspective for me.

As I paced backstage before my show the following night I kept telling myself that the sold out crowd was my proof. They were all here to see _me._ I must have been doing something right. I was the one pulling sold out arenas while Mike could barely fill a Barnes and Noble Cafe. He was full of shit and he knew it, he was just trying to scare me. But as I walked up those steps to the stage, after whatever local celebrity they got to come in tonight had announced my presence, I couldn't help thinking that maybe I was the one who was full of shit.

~ALM~

I put my best face on as I stepped out onto the stage, waving at the crowd that was politely clapping and cheering my entrance. This is why I did this. It had become almost second nature to me over the last few years, tell people what they needed to hear. Nothing that I planned to say was ever earth shattering. At least I didn't think so. But if people needed a little direction, or a little _motivation_ as it were, to get onto whatever path was best for them, then who was I to tell them they didn't need me. Besides, if they wanted to keep buying my books and paying me to tell them things they theoretically should already know, who am I to tell them to stop?

As the lights focused and the crowd all but disappeared from my vision, I slipped into a persona that was all too comfortable for me. I would get lost, in the zone as they say, and just start speaking. Tonight, however, was a bit different. I was more aware. Everything that was coming out of my mouth sounded wrong. I didn't even really understand what I was saying, and that was when I knew Mike Newton had gotten into my head and wasn't going to leave easily.

"_Because _'yourself' _is something only you can truly know, you must sometimes use self examination to look at where you want to find yourself_."

I shake my head once or twice. Not enough to be noticeable but that didn't come out the way I meant it to. What the hell? Continuing on, things only get worse.

"_Being your own person means being able to be yourself - no matter where you are - but you must always be yourself in a way that fits the situation. To work with others, whether at a job or in a social situation, you want to tailor your social skills to the occasion._"

Even I know that sounds asinine. Did I just tell everyone in this room to be themselves but to be themselves in however it fits a situation? Oh God, they're all going to want their money back. I'm fucking bombing up here and if things keep going the way they're going tonight, Mike Newton won't need a lawsuit. I'll shoot myself in the foot and take myself out of the game without him really being involved at all. Except he is. His words are banging around in my head and that's what's screwing with my mojo. It's Newton's fault that I'm fucking up so badly tonight. I mentally chide myself. _Come on Cullen, you can do this._

I stumble somewhat blindly through the end of the show, hoping to God that I pulled things back together but not really having any sense of what came out of my mouth or whether it made any more sense than the nonsense I was spewing early on in the evening. The crowd, to their credit, either didn't notice or didn't care as I received a huge round of applause at the end of my talk and heard murmurs of approval as I made my way backstage. The story was different once I stepped out of the lights, however.

"Dude, what the hell was that?" an exasperated Jasper said quietly as we made our way back to the green room.

"Uh, I don't know, man. I think Newton got in my head. I don't even understand what I was saying. I'm just glad that's the last show before we talk to Em tomorrow. I don't know if I could do that again."

"Seriously. Well, the good thing is we did the meet and greet last night so we're just headed back to the hotel tonight. Get some rest, we have an early flight tomorrow and then we'll deal with this whole thing head on, with our, um, legal team?"

"Hah. Legal team, my ass. I'm not sure my lazy sack of a brother constitutes a 'legal team,' but he's all we've got right now so yeah, we'll go with that."

I made my way out of the arena's back door into the waiting black Navigator with the dark-tinted windows that was set to take me back to the hotel, knowing full well that the 'rest' that Jasper was talking about wasn't going to come easily.

~ALM~

Back at the hotel, I walked blankly into my room stripping down as I went and found my way into a piping hot shower. Normally, after a show I have so much adrenaline flowing that the shower is a necessary calming force to get myself to sleep. Not to mention, those damn stage lights are hot, so I always feel a little sweaty and gross after a show.

Tonight, however, the heat of the water did nothing to calm my mind. I was simply standing in the shower, back to the fall of water, lost in my thoughts as the heat rolled down my back. I couldn't believe that Mike Newton had gotten to me as he had. He was a hack. He was jealous of my popularity. He wasn't as good of a speaker as I was and he was just using whatever he could to try to get to me, and he'd done it. In a lot of ways tonight, he'd won. I couldn't let that happen again.

I took a deep breath, shook out my tight shoulders a bit, leaned back under the spray, running my hands through my hair, and steeled my resolve. He was not going to win again. How I would ensure that, I didn't know, but I'd figure that out later. Turning off the water, I stepped out onto the slightly rough hotel bath mat and toweled myself off. Wrapping the damp cloth around my hips I wandered back into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. Flipping on the tv, I scanned the channels. Finding nothing but old, crappy movies and the news, I blew out a frustrated breath, decided I needed a drink, and knew that those little airline-sized bottles they provide in the rooms just weren't going to cut it.

Throwing my slacks and shirt back on, since I really didn't want to dirty any more clothes before heading home tomorrow, I grabbed my wallet and hotel keycard and headed downstairs to the bar.

~ALM~

'Thank fucking God' I think as I enter the bar and notice that there's only one other person in the place. Seems to be a woman, with long brown hair, dressed in a red top and black Converse. She's got a glass with one of those skinny bar straws in it perched in front of her and a book open on the bar. She looks like she's lost in whatever she's reading.

The bar itself only has three stools in front of it, although the bar area consists of several small tables adorned with candles and drink menus. Even though the place is almost totally empty, it feels fairly cozy, especially for a hotel bar. I walk up to the row of stools and pull out one next to the woman. I'm not trying to invade her space, but she's sitting in the middle stool so it's either that or I sit at a table and make the bartender come to me. That seems rather rude, so the stool next to the bookworm it is.

As I sit I can feel the nervous energy coursing through my veins. Nope, shower did absolutely no good in regard to all this, whatever it is, running through my system. My leg bounces, a bit of tell of mine, as I ask the bartender for a Heineken. I do have to fly tomorrow, so I'm thinking getting totally trashed it out of the question, I can't take a plane ride on a hangover, but a couple of beers to take the edge off I can handle.

Suddenly I can feel a pair of eyes on me, and I know it's not the bartender, since he's facing the other way, procuring my beer from the coolers below the counter. I look to my right and sure enough, the bookwork sitting next to me is staring, mouth slightly agape, brown eyes wide as saucers.

She stammers, trying to get a sentence out, and I have to admit it's kind of cute. She must recognize me, which tonight is both flattering and terrifying. If she's a fan, she was probably at the show, and while I normally don't mind people recognizing me, I don't want to see anyone from tonight's show ever again for fear that they'll start pointing and laughing at my terrible performance. _Talk about performance anxiety._

As she stumbles through her sentence, she flips closed the cover of the book, pointing at my smiling face, asking if I am, in fact, the Edward Cullen she's reading. Shit. She's a fan, and was probably at the show. The stammering is probably her attempt at covering her laughter.

"Yes." I answer with a slight smile. I don't want to be rude, but if this is going to go badly, I don't want to encourage her.

"Wow," is her only reply. Yep, I was spot on. She thinks I'm a moron.

"Great," I sigh, and return my eyes to the bar. Maybe she'll get the hint and leave me alone.

"I was just at the Wells Fargo, is everything alright?" Aaaaand here it is. She's definitely talking about my clusterfuck of a show. She noticed. Thinking I need to play this off I pretend I don't know what she could be talking about.

"What?!" I pretend to be shocked that anyone would think anything is wrong.

"Um...I'm a fan. I've been to a lot of your shows and, you seemed off tonight," she says and adds a bit of a shrug at the end. Like she's trying to play off the horrific traffic accident that was my speech.

"Yeah, not a good night. I'm Edward," I reply. "But you already know that." God, even this isn't going the way it should. I'm sounding even more like a bumbling idiot that I did earlier, if that's even possible.

"Bella," she answers.

"Edward!" I hear from somewhere over the bookworm's...Bella's shoulder. Well shit. Rosalie found me. I really need to stop trudging off without telling her where I'm going, she gets all nervous and over protective of my 'celebrity' status. I pat my pants pocket and realize I don't have my phone with me either. She's probably been trying to call me, too.

I sigh, knowing she's going to give me an ear full of shit, yet again, but my brain just isn't in a place where I could concentrate tonight. So sue me. _Oh, wait. Yeah. That. _

Attempting to buy myself another minute before Rose starts ripping me a new one, I turn to Bella. "Can I sign that for you?"

She nods shyly and slides the book toward me. I pull a Sharpie out of my pocket. That, I have with me, but my phone? Of course not.

"Edward! Let's go. You have a flight to catch early in the morning," Rose says as she moves closer to the bar. I look up from the inscription I'm finishing just in time to see her eyes looking over Bella, a scowl on her face.

"Yeah, just a minute, Rose. I'm signing this for Bella."

Closing the book again, I slide it back toward her drink and smile at her. She's quite pretty in the dim lighting of the tiny hotel bar. "It was nice to meet you, Bella. Have a nice night."

I slide my empty bottle toward the service side of the bar and stand, mentally preparing myself for the Rosalie onslaught I'm sure to endure on the elevator ride back to our floor.

As I follow Rosalie, I find I'm drawn to this fan that I've just met. I pause momentarily and turn back toward the bar one last time. She's staring in my direction as I walk away, her jaw lowered in surprise. I smile again and give her a small wave goodbye, then turn back around and continue following a huffing Rosalie to the bank of elevators.

As the doors slide closed, I see Bella turn back to the book and start to open the cover looking for the inscription I'd written. And then I remember that Rosalie is pissed when she starts, in a determined whisper-yell.

"What the fuck is wrong with you Edward. You didn't answer your phone and I've been calling you for over an hour!"

"I took a shower and then decided to come down here for a drink. I didn't think you'd appreciate a liquor hangover and me on a plane in the morning so I figured a beer or two was a better idea. You'll thank me in the morning, trust me. I must have forgotten my phone when I left the room."

"Yeah, well, work on that, would you? As your bodyguard I should probably know where your _body_ is to _guard_ it. Don't you think?"

"Rose I'm fine. I was just having a drink. It's not like I was being mobbed by fans. For God's sake, it's like midnight. I think everyone is asleep anyway."

"Whatever. Just remember your damn phone next time. We really do have an early flight tomorrow, though, so go get some sleep. I'm not dealing with your cranky ass all the way back to Chicago tomorrow if you're tired. I don't want to hear about it in the morning. Oh, and as a side note, don't sleep with her."

"Yeah yeah, I know, early flight. I got it. And no, I won't...wait. What?"

"I said, don't sleep with her. I saw the way you were checking her out, and right now, with everything else, the last thing we need is some crazy ass fan stalking you because you _one-and-done_ her on top of everything else that's going on."

"Rose, I wasn't even thinking about sleeping with her. She was actually just asking about the show tonight. Relax." But even as I'm saying the words, I realize that somewhere in the back of my mind, I was thinking about her beautiful eyes and her pouty lips, and the fantastic way her top accented her cleavage. I'm a guy. I can't help that shit.

As I stepped into my room, stripping down in much the same fashion I had after the show earlier tonight, I crawled under the covers letting my mind, and my hand, wander a bit. This time I couldn't shut my brain off, but for an entirely different reason. And as images of the pretty girl downstairs flashed through my mind, it registered that she didn't laugh or point, but asked if I was okay. She seemed to actually care. Concentrating on images that were only created in my mind, since we'd actually had a perfectly polite public encounter in a hotel bar, and she wasn't in fact currently undressing in front of me, I found a bit of release from the tension that had been eating at me all evening. _That_ was certainly a sure-fire way to clear my mind and get myself to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Awww, poor E. Rose said he can't sleep with the pretty girl. He's got an early flight anyway. What did you think of E's speech? How about their interaction at the bar? How are we going to get these two crazy kids back together? What are Bella's friends going to say? How are E and the gang going to deal with Mike? **

**Gah! So many questions...so many answers coming for you! Stick with us and please, please, please let us know what you think!**


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